


That Time Clint Dropped in on Sam

by rivlee



Series: OT3 'verse [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Background Relationships, Fluff, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 09:19:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1545623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivlee/pseuds/rivlee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or Sam Wilson's New Status Quo. Takes place in the same 'verse as <i>I Get By (With a Little Help)</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Time Clint Dropped in on Sam

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place before the final scene of [I Get By (With a Little Help)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1518881/chapters/3211283).

The text message came at six in the morning when Steve was in the shower, Sam was brushing his teeth, and Bucky was on the toilet seat lid mocking Steve’s shampoo and body wash choices.

“We can get you your own if the smells bothers you that much,” Sam said in between swishing and spitting. “I’ll pick you up a standard bottle of Pert Plus and Suave Ocean Breeze on my way home from work.”

“Pretty sure Bucky needs Selsun Blue for that hair,” Steve called over the sound of running water.

“Are you mocking me before I’ve had coffee?” Bucky asked.

Sam shrugged. “You haven’t even slept yet; I don’t think it counts.”

Sam’s phone pinged again. 

“You thinking about getting that?” Bucky asked. “Could be important.”

Sam shook his head. “That’s Natasha’s alert. If it was serious she’d call Cap.”

Bucky raised one single, solitary, far-too-sarcastic-for-this-early-in-the-morning eyebrow. 

“Could be important,” he repeated. 

Sam really should’ve seen the rest of the day coming after that auspicious start.

********

Sam Wilson spent three out of seven days helping Steve Rogers and company track down Hydra cells, another three at his normally scheduled office hours and group meetings for his vets, and one day left completely to himself (or at least scheduled as such). He’d follow Steve anywhere, Captain America too for that matter, but Sam had a few higher priorities when Steve wasn’t involved in matters of national and international security, and he wasn’t anyone’s sidekick. Proud serving partner and brother-in-arms? Absolutely. Willing to help out people he cared deeply about? Of course. Letting his own personal identity and goals get swept away in all the shit that rolled downhill from knowing Captain friggin’ America? The biggest nope in entire historical existence of the word _nope_.

Sam hadn’t spent years of war, collegiate education, and sorting out his own head to get his counseling certification just to let it all fall by the wayside because someone showed up with a pretty smile and a mission. He honestly truly loved Steve, Bucky, and Natasha, but he had his own life with its own compartments and his own personal sense of duty. He had his family and his support system; nieces he tried to spend at least one day a week with, and siblings that meant the world to him. Sam clung to everyone a little tighter these days, but he had promises to keep about living his life to the fullest and helping those who needed it; to pay back what had been given to him. 

He wanted a life with Steve and Bucky too of course, and knew some hard as hell decisions were coming in the future, but for now he was keeping to the current course that saw everyone pretty personally fulfilled.

His normal office hours that day ran pretty typical; a few meetings, a few more contacts made to set up job searches for vets struggling to find employment, and catching up with e-mails, voicemails, and actual letters sent by some of his older clients. 

Lunch was a surprise late-afternoon visit from Bucky who arrived with a delicious smelling container and a glare for the protein bar in Sam’s hand. 

“I’m so telling Steve on you,” he said. 

Sam laughed. “Like that’s much of a threat.”

“Fine,” Bucky said. “I’ll tell Natasha, who is already annoyed you haven’t replied to her text. Do you really feel that lucky, Wilson?”

Sam admired Natasha Romanoff greatly, but she knew exactly how to make his days reach a whole new level of hell.

“Come on, Barnes. What’s a little protein bar meal replacement secret between two guys?”

Bucky shook his head. “You need to take care of yourself, and I don’t care what nutritional label or scientific fact you’re going to wave in my face. Now, shut up and eat this before it gets cold.”

Bucky recently discovered a love of cooking shows, and Sam had become his default taste-tester since he logged more hours at home than Steve. Today it was vegetarian lasagna. 

“Is this pasta homemade?” Sam asked.

Bucky nodded. “I’m sure the store bought stuff is okay, but I like making it, and this way I know exactly what goes into it. The sauce is store bought, though. Still learning how to make the good stuff.”

“When did we get a new pasta maker?” Sam asked. The last one had been used as target practice after ten failed attempts.

Bucky perched on the corner of Sam’s desk and passed him a fork and napkin. “Eat up,” he said.

“Answer the question,” Sam said, even though his mouth was watering. Bucky was turning into a damn fine cook. Sam would have to up his exercise regimen soon. God help him if the man decided to try his hand at baked goods.

“Steve took me out to that super-cluttered store we always get the coupons for in the mail; the one you too me to months ago. I had to stop him from re-arranging a whole shelf because the color clashing got on his nerves,” Bucky said.

Sam carefully swallowed his bite before he asked the very important question. “Steve took you to _Bed, Bath, & Beyond_? Please tell me someone got a picture of that.”

Bucky produced another fork from somewhere and cut off a small chunk of his own. “ _Someone_ might’ve got video, but you only get to see it if you’re good.”

Sam reached out and wiped some sauce from the corner of Bucky’s mouth. “I’m always good.”

“That’s what you need to believe to keep on, you go with it,” Bucky said.

The only thing that stopped Sam from starting a food fight was the fact he’d just had the carpet cleaned, and he really liked the shirt he had on.

**********

The meeting hall was still empty at his local VA. The start time for the evening session wasn’t for another hour, but Sam liked to get there early just in case. He always made sure to have a table full of water-filled cups at the ready. There was a typical spread of snack foods and Sam had become adept at wheeling a cooler through the narrow halls of the building with his bag bumping against his back.

Sam had finally read and replied to Natasha’s text. She’d only texted to let him know a friend of hers should be stopping by before the official start time. Sam made sure to arrive extra early just in case. 

He left the room for maybe four minutes to grab his phone charger from his car and returned to the kind of chaos that was starting to become his new status quo. 

There was a hole in the auditorium’s ceiling, flakes of tile floating in the filled cups of water, and a grown-ass man on the floor clutching his head.

“Aw, ceiling tile, no.”

Sam put his charger down and cautiously approached the intruder. He didn’t look like a Hydra agent hell bent on destroying someone who knew Steve Rogers, but who could tell these days. 

“May I help you, sir?”

The man opened his eyes and frowned when he looked at Sam, then up the ceiling. “Fuck, ‘Tasha’s gonna kill me,” he said. 

No one who said Natasha’s name with such affection could be all that bad. He was pretty sure the people she truly trusted were in the single digits.

“You must be Clint,” Sam said as he held a hand out to help the guy up. “Natasha said to be expecting you.” He dusted off Clint’s shirt. “For future reference, we have a door.”

“Look, these things just happen okay.”

Sam nodded. “Of course they do. I’m used to men falling out the sky. _It’s Raining Men_ is my new ringtone.” 

“’Tasha do that?” Clint asked.

“Steve, actually,” Sam said. “I’m pretty sure he had help though.”

“It sounds like one of her plays at work,” Clint said. He nervously ran a hand through his hair before taking in the perimeter. “Uh, I’ll pay for that hole. I swear I’m good for it; hazard pay and all that.”

“Even though your former employer is now an international scandal story and no longer exists?”

“I was with SHIELD on a contract-basis. I’ve always been more of a freelancer, and this guy I know sort of pays me to do the odd job.”

“Stark, right? He’s snatching up all you guys. Must be fun working for him.”

“Oh, you’ve met?”

“Once,” Sam said. “Many years ago when I was still in the service. I watch the news though, especially when a group of costumed fighters and the green guy who destroyed Harlem are doing their level best to see my family’s insurance and property rates go through the roof again and again by, you know, taking out chunks of New York City.”

Clint winced. “Yeah, sorry about that. I was brainwashed.”

“Eh, it’s okay, man. No one foresees alien attacks.”

Clint made a noise and Sam held up his hand. “I don’t want to know what freaky shit SHIELD was into. Steve’s scared me enough by admitting Red Skull was real and had an actual _red skull_. Natasha knows too much about government and political coups to make me ever trust anyone while playing RISK again. I have to lie to my grandma and my father—the minister—about where I was on the day three helicarriers went down. My mind is repeatedly blown on a daily basis that Bucky friggin’ Barnes is the new Julia Child, and has made best friends with a puppy he’s named Cyclone.”

“Oh, cool, I love dogs. What kind is it?”

“A mutt,” Sam said. “That’s what you’re focusing on?”

“Dogs are awesome,” Clint said.

Sam couldn’t argue with that, even if he’d always loved birds more. “Anyway, I should give you a proper welcome and the tour, but first let’s get you checked for any bumps, bruises, or breaks.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Clint said. “I’ve had worse.”

“None of that macho bullshit on my watch. I will personally drag your ass to an ER if it’s required. You just fell out of the ceiling onto a hard tile floor, taking out four folding chairs on the way. Unless you have an extra special edition skeletal system, I’m going to need to cheek you out.”

“I’ve had worst propositions too,” Clint said. He sat down on one of the non-mangled chairs, zipped off his flack vest and tugged his shirt up. “Do your worst, Doc.”

“I’m not a doctor,” Sam said. He pressed his hands over Clint’s ribcage, checking for fractures and the voluntary and involuntary reactions of a patient trying to hide an injury.

All Clint did was hum _Unchained Melody_.

“I already have two boyfriends, man. I’m good, but I don’t think I can handle a third,” Sam said.

“You have such good hands though,” Clint said.

“Look at you trying to be all smooth motherfucker,” Sam said. “You still put a hole in my ceiling and you’re best buds with _Natasha Romanoff_. I want to live to see fifty.”

“Don’t we all,” Clint said.

Sam couldn’t find anything wrong with Clint, outside of the obvious questionable judgment for grand entrances, and stood back. “Looks like you’ve got another day at least.”

“Sun’s not down yet,” Clint said. He stood and stretched his body out. “I think you want to talk to the building managers about general lack of structural integrity though. Your ceiling should be able to withstand more than that.”

“Yeah, I’ll worry about it the next time I’m in LA and Hans Gruber takes over a building.”

“Yippee-kay-yay,” Clint said as he wandered over to the snack table and stuffed a cookie in his mouth.

“What if I don’t like talking?” he asked after he was done.

“You don’t have to,” Sam said. He pushed the door open and slid the stopper in place. “Some people come to talk, some to listen, some just to be able to see they’re not alone. I’m not a therapist, just a counselor who takes the time to give people a safe place to meet and share. The door stays open, so people can come and go as they please.”

“And if I just want to stay back here and eat all your cookies and drink all your water?”

“I’m going to be concerned about your hydration levels if you need all that water, but you’re not going to offend me or anybody else if you do. You wouldn’t be the first,” Sam said. “Knock yourself out.” He held up a hand. “Please don’t actually do that.”

“Nah, didn’t think it was a suggestion,” Clint said.

************

Sam didn’t say anything as Clint moved closer and closer as the meeting went on. He didn’t say anything when he silently slid into the seat near the center. He wouldn’t have said anything even if it wasn’t Clint’s first time. Sam picked this space so the people who attended could move around, and he was glad to see that if nothing else, Clint found a thread of something he recognized in the words being shared.

Clint lingered even after the last person left.

“Need a hand with the clean-up?” Clint asked. He gestured to the hole now covered with a trash bag. “Least I could do.”

“I’m not going to turn down another set of hands,” Sam said. 

Clint perfectly tossed each one of the empty cups into the trash from various trajectories. Sam was really fucking impressed. 

“So, not Hawkeye for nothing?”

“Gotta be good at something to balance out all the rest, right?” Clint asked.

Sam didn’t know much about Clint, outside of the fact he’d worked with Steve, was close to Natasha, and had been through some deep shit. He _did_ know the guy looked like he could use a decent home-cooked meal and a night of standing down.

“You got any food allergies?” he asked,

Clint laughed. “I thought you already had two boyfriends.”

“We’ve been talking about getting a mascot to go with the new puppy,” Sam said. “How’s your cheer cry?”

“I can quote _Bring It On_ in my sleep.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, you can come by for dinner.”

Clint shook his head and pulled out his phone. “I’ve got the time, if you’ve got the space. Just let me tell Mom I won’t be home for dinner.”

“Does Natasha know you call her that?” Sam asked.

“He’s called me worse,” she said from the doorway. 

It took an extra fifteen minutes to pick up the trash after Sam dropped the bag in surprise. 

“And you wonder why Steve’s so concerned about your heart health,” Natasha said. 

“Did no one ever tell you not to sneak up on a soldier?” he asked.

“Which is why I only do it when you’re relaxed and your guard is down,” Natasha said. She patted his shoulder. “Besides, we both know I could take you. Maybe I just do it for the thrill of seeing a strong, virile man flinch.”

“Strong and virile?” Sam asked. “Let me guess, you want to come over for dinner too.”

Natasha smirked. “I wouldn’t say no on the night a little birdy told me he’s making Italian wedding soup from scratch because Steve’s had a craving.” 

“So you really have three partners,” Clint said. “I see I’m really just here to babysit the dog. That’s cool.”

Sam’s response was cut off by the sound of his phone. Steve’s alert this time.

_Are you on your way home yet? If not, Bucky wants to see if you can pick up a fresh loaf of bread. Ciabatta or French, he’s open to either._

_Why is it always about Europe with you two?_ Sam texted back. _I’ll pick it up. Bringing Nat and Clint too. Warn Bucky_.

 _He’s pouting about having to put a shirt on._

Sam bit the inside of his lips to keep from laughing. _He’s not the only one._

He tucked his phone away, grabbed the rolling cooler and his briefcase, and walked over to Natasha and Clint who were whispering low to each other and sharing those secret smiles that only came with years of knowing someone. 

“Let’s go,” he said. “I’ve got to stop by the store for Master Chef, but I can meet you guys at the house, or you can ride along with me.”

“I support ride along,” Clint said. He took the handle of Sam’s cooler before he could protest. “So Natasha said you had a wing pack? I always wanted to get my hands on one of those.”

“You’d break it in ten minutes or less along with yourself,” Natasha said. “No wing packs. No asking Stark to ask Rhodey to get the specs for the wing packs. No asking Sam to let you meet the original inventor of the design. Just no.”

“But ‘Tasha, I could _fly_.”

“That’s a negative, Ghost Rider.”

“Come on, have more faith in me than that.”

“After half an hour you’d have taken out at least one building all while saying, _Okay, this looks bad_. Not happening.”

Sam had a feeling that tonight’s dinner and a show was either going to be very entertaining, or devolve into a competition of who destroyed the most landmarks in a single day. Either way, he was game.


End file.
